THAT MYSTERIOUS TEXAS BRAND MAN

by Maggie Shayne

  And then the words he'd spoken sank in, and Casey shook herself. What was wrong with her? Her home had been broken into, ransacked. Her sister was being followed for reasons she refused to explain, and yet Casey was getting turned on by strange voices over the phone.

  She cleared her throat. "Who is this?"

  "Do you make so many people angry every day that you can't guess?"

  The Guardian. It had to be. It was exactly the way she'd imagined he would sound. Dark, lonely, elusive. Sexy as hell. "Actually, yes," she said. "I tend to make a lot of people angry. But only when I have good reason."

  "And what, exactly, was your reason for telling the world that I was in need of a wife?"

  She released a long, slow sigh and felt her eyes widen just a bit. "Then it is you."

  His sigh wasn't wistful as hers had been. It was impatient. "Your reasons, Ms. Jones?"

  She ran a stop sign, heard someone blow their horn long and loud and veered sharply just in time to avoid being broadsided. "Damn! Hold on a minute." She pulled the car out of the intersection and onto the shoulder. "That's better. At least I won't get myself killed."

  "I wouldn't be so sure of that."

  She blinked. "Is that a threat? I thought you were supposed to be the good guy."

  "Not to people who invade my privacy, Ms. Jones."

  "Oh."

  His breath filled her ear as if he were right beside her, and it sent a shiver down her spine. Every time he called her "Ms. Jones" in that deep, sultry voice, she felt heat sizzle through her. And she wanted to hear him say "Casey" in that same mysterious, almost whisper.

  "Ms. Jones?" he prompted.

  "Casey." She blurted it on impulse and instantly regretted that she had.

  And then he said it, and the chills that ran up her spine and into her nape were icy hot and delicious. "Casey." He breathed her name. Her eyes fell closed and she only popped them open again when he went on. "You were about to tell me why you took it upon yourself to place that ad."

  She blinked. He was angry. She'd nearly forgotten all about that. "Right," she said. "Look, I'm sorry about the ad thing. I needed to get your attention, and it was the only thing I could think of."

  There was a brief silence. Then, "You … you placed that ad just to provoke me into contacting you?"

  "Hey, don't sound so skeptical. It worked, didn't it?"

  His voice softer than before, he said, "I guess it did at that." But then it got hard again, even violent. "If you're a reporter—"

  "I'm not." Casey bit her lip. It was a blatant lie. But it was obvious what this Guardian character thought of the press. If she told him the truth, he'd hang up and she'd never hear from him again. And she needed the guy.

  "Then what are you after?"

  She licked her lips, watched the traffic pass her by but didn't really see it. "I need your help," she said, very softly. "My sister is in trouble. Serious trouble."

  He was silent a moment. "What kind of trouble?"

  "I don't know exactly. She won't tell me. I only know someone is following her, and she's terrified."

  "Are you certain?"

  Casey bit back her anger. "She's my kid sister. She has fear in her eyes. There's a bond between us, and I know her too well to mistake that look. God, didn't you ever have a sister?"

  She thought he might have been taken aback, because he didn't answer for a moment. Then, clearing his throat, he said, "Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. Once."

  Casey's heart tripped in her chest. "I—I'm sorry."

  "I didn't mean, are you certain she's terrified. I meant, are you certain she's being followed?"

  "Oh." She was focused on his voice now. Had there been pain there before? Had her remarks hurt him? Where was his sister now?

  "Well?"

  "What happened to your sister?" she asked him.

  He made an impatient sound that could have been clearing his throat or a deep growl, and she wasn't too sure she wanted to know which.

  "If you want my help, answer my questions, Casey, and refrain from asking any in return."

  "That's hardly fair."

  "It's how I work. Now, what makes you think your sister is being followed?"

  Casey frowned at the phone. "Our house was broken into night before last," she said. "They tore the place apart but didn't take a thing. So what would you say?"

  "I'd say they were looking for something or they wanted to be sure you knew they'd been there."

  "At least you're not an idiot," Casey observed.

  "If you thought I was an idiot, why did you go to so much trouble to get in touch with me?"

  "I didn't think you were an idiot. Just feared you might be."

  "Why?"

  "Why? Well, gee, I dunno. Maybe I just jump to conclusions about guys who give themselves superhero nicknames and go around in hats and trench coats fighting for truth, justice and the American way."

  He said nothing, and she realized she'd just insulted him big-time.

  "That wasn't meant as a slam."

  Silence.

  "I apologize," she blurted. "Look, I have a short fuse, okay? And I'm really stressed out right now. I didn't mean anything by it. I need your help, here. The last thing I meant to do was insult you."

  Very slowly, he said, "I didn't give myself the nickname. The newspapers did that. A long time ago. It wasn't even me then, and…" He let his voice trail off.

  Casey's snoop muscle twitched. "It wasn't even you then?" She got that feeling in the pit of her stomach. The one that told her when she was on to something—close to uncovering someone's secrets. "What do you mean, it wasn't even you then?"

  "We were discussing your sister."

  The reminder was firm enough to get her back on track. And just insistent enough to make her file that feeling away in the back of her mind for future reference. The man hated being questioned, hated the press. Obviously he had major secrets to keep. And uncovering secrets was Casey's stock-in-trade. Her curiosity was aroused.

  And it wasn't the only thing.

  "So, are you going to help me protect her or not?" she asked him.

  "I have to admit, I'm intrigued."

  "Yeah, I'll bet. You need to get out of Silver City for a while, right? Give the press time to find another flavor of the month?"

  "Why would you assume—"

  "I read about your latest encounter with them in this morning's paper. They claim you assaulted a photographer."

  "I barely touched him," he said, but softly.

  "They're not going to leave you alone. I think you know that. So why not come to Texas?"

  "It's not often I come across someone as utterly intrepid as you. Placing that ad was…"

  "Placing that ad was ingenious," she said. "Let's cut to the chase here, okay? I'll pay you ten thousand dollars. Cash. Just say you'll come to Texas. Just meet Laura. I know if you take one look at her you'll want to help her out of this mess. Everyone who knows Laura loves her. Please, just—"

  "I'm already in Texas, Casey."

  She gaped. "You are? Where are you staying? Can I meet you so we can—"

  "Actually, I'm not all that far from you. I've been watching you the entire time we've been talking. Nice car, by the way. I've always been partial to blue."

  She blinked and craned her neck, examining the cars around her more carefully, searching for him, wondering what he looked like, what he drove. "Where are you?"

  "You'll know that when I want you to know it."

  "Oh, for crying out loud." She examined a wino on a park bench, dismissed him and continued scanning the traffic, the pedestrians, everything. "You've been paying too much attention to your own press, Mr.—er—whatever your name is."

  "What makes you think so?"

  "You sound as if you really believe this superhero hype they keep printing about you."

  "Maybe I do," he said. "Maybe it's true."

  "And maybe you're a lunatic. And maybe I'd better find someone else."

&
nbsp; He paused, drew a breath. "You can try."

  Closing her eyes, Casey knew she was out of time, out of options. "Are you going to help me? Just tell me yes or no, and stop with the games, okay? I don't have time for cat and mouse."

  "To be honest, I haven't decided."

  "Well, gee, do you have an idea when you might? I mean, with my sister's life on the line, I'm in a bit of a rush—"

  "I wasn't being sarcastic."

  "Then what were you being? Indecisive, or just deliberately cruel?"

  He sighed heavily. "Wary," he told her. "I'm sure you can understand that, having read the papers. Or perhaps they didn't report the entire story. Maybe you don't realize that twice now I've rushed to the aid of someone supposedly in trouble, only to be ambushed by vultures."

  Casey swallowed hard. "No," she said. "I wasn't aware of that." She glanced in the rearview mirror, saw a silver Infiniti Q45 pass by slowly. She was sure it was at least the second time that particular car had passed. She strained her eyes. Damn windows were tinted. She could see nothing beyond the dark silhouette of his head, the strong shape of his shoulders outlined in the dim, tinted glass.

  "So you're wary," she said, running out of patience.

  "Slightly."

  "And you don't trust me."

  "Not even a little bit," he said.

  Casey sighed and shook her head. "So you're turning me down. Why didn't you just say so in the first place and save us both some time?" She put the car into gear, checked the mirror and waited for a break in traffic to allow her to pull out.

  "I'm not turning you down."

  She blinked at the phone. "You're accepting?"

  "I didn't say that, either."

  "You're not real good at decisions, are you, pal? Not much for clarity, either. You mind getting to the point?"

  "If you'd keep quiet long enough, I'd be glad to."

  She harrumphed into the phone, heard a deep chuckle on the other end, one that sent more shivers of awareness creeping over her nape and tickling at the base of her skull. She bit her lip, partly to keep from interrupting him again and partly in response to that sensation.

  "I'd like to meet with you," he told her.

  "Face-to-face?" She swallowed hard. "I thought no one had ever seen your face?"

  "Let me worry about that."

  She didn't answer. She was thinking, wondering. Was this guy safe? Was she out of her mind to be considering this?

  "You'll be perfectly safe."

  "Said the spider to the fly," she put in, still waffling. She needed him. But this was getting scary.

  "You're the one who went to so much trouble to contact me, Casey. This was your idea, not mine. Believe me, luring attractive young women to dark places at night is not my idea of recreation."

  Her throat went dry. "So you think I'm attractive?"

  There was a pause. "Did I say that?"

  "You trying to take it back?"

  "No. It's true."

  "I'd guess it must be easier to see through those tinted windows of yours from the inside than it is from the outside."

  "Tinted windows?"

  "On the Q45."

  Again, there was a pause. "Very good, Ms. Jones."

  "Casey, remember? So it's going to be dark? Where we meet?"

  "Does that mean you're agreeing to it?"

  It was her turn to pause, to think, to hesitate. "I guess I don't have much of a choice. When and where?"

  She'd caught him by surprise. He didn't know the area. He hadn't been prepared for this. And usually he wasn't this indecisive or cautious. Then again, he'd never been through the things he'd been through in the days since the article had come out in Prominence Magazine. But there was more to it than that. His instincts were failing him today, and that rarely happened. Part of him was certain the woman on the phone was on the level. She wasn't making up the trouble her sister was in. There had been a slight wavering in her voice when she mentioned this … Laura's name. A change in tone. Her voice softened, trembled. And in doing so, touched off some strange reaction in him. An urge to believe her, to fix whatever was wrong.

  Yet there were warning bells sounding in his mind, as well. A lot of them. Something wasn't right here. She was too sharp, too observant, too good at bantering with him without ever giving a thing away. She wasn't being entirely honest with him. About what, he didn't know.

  But she was dangerous. He was certain of that. Dangerous … to him. How, he couldn't guess, but it was there. The knowledge, the awareness. She sent tingles up his spine with her voice, and when he'd driven past and glimpsed her behind the wheel, he'd felt more of the same. Soft was the word that came to mind when he saw her. Soft. The cloud of hair floating around her face. The size of her eyes. Big and brown and soft. She was right, he could see out through the tinted glass far more easily than anyone could see in. Then again, his eyes were honed to seeing what others missed. To seeing in utter darkness.

  He'd seen her very clearly when he'd driven slowly past. And yet he'd been unable to resist driving by again, looking his fill, even though he knew that doing so increased his chances of being spotted. "Mr. … er, Guardian?"

  Her voice, soft as the rest of her, came in his ear again, shaking him from his thoughts. He wasn't feeling sure of himself right now. He felt vulnerable without the protection of his fenced-in estate, the familiar security of Silver City and the anonymity he'd enjoyed for so long.

  "I'm still here," he said.

  "Do you know how silly that sounds? Mr. Guardian? It's ridiculous. If we're going to be working together, you'll have to give me something else to call you."

  "We won't be working together, Ms. Jones. I work alone."

  "We'll see," she said, and the words were laden with meaning. It made him uncomfortable. "So where are we meeting? And why bother, when you could just stop circling in your silver Infiniti, pull over somewhere and walk up to me?"

  He almost smiled. She was clever. "I'm a mile from where you were parked," he said. "There's a park on my right, with a duck pond."

  "Mulberry Park," she said.

  "Mulberry Park," he repeated. "Meet me at the bench near the duck pond. All right?"

  "Sure. I can be there in five minutes."

  "Not now."

  He heard her draw a breath, could almost feel her nervousness coming through the line. "I was afraid of that. So … when?"

  "Tonight," he said. "Midnight."

  She groaned. Soft, almost erotic, that sound. He shifted in his seat.

  "I suppose you're going to tell me to come alone."

  He almost told her that coming alone wasn't all it was cracked up to be, but decided against it. "I'm afraid so," he said instead. "You have nothing to fear, Casey. I'm in the business of helping people, not harming them."

  "Unless they're reporters who get in your way," she said softly.

  He blinked. "You're referring to that report in the paper again, aren't you?"

  "You did assault the photographer," she said.

  "I was running for my life, and he jumped into my path and shoved a camera in my face. I didn't have much choice, the way I saw it."

  She sighed.

  "What? You sound disapproving."

  "I don't know you well enough to approve or disapprove of you. It's just…"

  "Just what?" At her silence, he found himself leaning forward in his seat. "Tell me. Oddly enough, I really want to know."

  "You said you were running for your life," she told him. "But you weren't. You were running for your secrecy, to protect yourself from discovery. There's a big difference."

  He nodded. She was sharp, insightful. "I suppose that's true. Let's say then that I was running for my way of life. Which to me is the same thing."

  "Your way of life is that important to you? This secret identity of yours? Running around in the night thumping on bad guys? Why?"

  Why? It was a question he consciously avoided. He'd heard his own mind whisper it to him more than once, but insti
nctively he ignored the question. Somehow, he knew the answers would be too painful to take.

  With no more than a few words, she was poking around in the most secret places of his soul. He squirmed inwardly, wondering how the conversation had wound up here. "Are you going to meet me or not?" He found part of himself suddenly hoping she'd refuse. Say no. Hang up and never bother him again. But mostly, he was praying she'd agree. He had to see her, talk to her, and he didn't even know why. For God's sake, why?

  "Yes," she said. "All of a sudden I'm just dying to meet you."

  He didn't like the sound of that.

  He didn't like the sound of that at all.

  "A date?" Laura stood with her hands on her hips, tapping one foot and looking at her older sister as if Casey had grown another head.

  "Don't sound as if it's so far-fetched. It's not as if I never date."

  "It's exactly as if you never date. You don't, Case."

  "Do so."

  "Yeah? Name the last time."

  "Eight months ago. Del Mason from the paper."

  "Del doesn't count. You two only ate together so you could finish that article you were writing in time for the deadline."

  "A dinner's a dinner."

  "And Del is gay."

  "So you're prejudiced now?"

  "Prejudiced? I'm just saying gay co-workers don't count as dates!"

  Casey blew a sigh. "Well, whether Dell counts or not is beside the point. I'm going out tonight."

  "With who?"

  "With a guy."

  "Is he gay?"

  Casey closed her eyes, brought that voice to mind again with no more than a passing thought and heard herself whisper, "God, I hope not." Her eyes flashed open. "Who the hell said that?"

  Laura giggled. "You did. I can't believe it. You really like him, don't you?"

  "Hell, I haven't even met him."

  "So it's a blind date?"

  "Very blind," Casey said.

  "But very romantic. The duck pond at midnight? The guy sure has something on his mind. If I didn't know how good you are at taking care of yourself, I'd be worried."

  "The point is, I'm not going unless I know you're safe."

  Laura lowered her head. "I'm sick of hotels, Casey. I want to go home."